


Civilized Society

by Anonymous



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Omega Steve, Omega Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-02 23:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5267756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve didn't want an alpha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Civilized Society

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nautilicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nautilicious/gifts).



> Off prompt, but I hope you like it!

On the third day of seventh grade, Steve became the very first person in his class to differentiate, although he didn’t know it at the time.

He thought he’d suddenly fallen ill—and maybe, for the first time since he was a baby, _wet his pants_ , and he only had a second to worry about it before Tommy Jennings pointed a finger at him and loudly yelped, “ _What the hell is wrong with Rogers_?”

‘ _I don’t feel good_ ,’ he almost blurted before Miss Laura took him by the arm and dragged him towards the principal’s office, where he wasn’t told to take a seat and explain himself, as was often the case, but was instead pushed into the closet at the very back of the room. He watched Principal Wilmot and Miss Laura exchange hushed words he wasn’t quite able to pick up on, on account of his bad ear.

“Stay very quiet in there, Steve,” Miss Laura said, turning to him. “I’m going to call for your mother. Don’t leave until I come get you, understood?”

“No,” Steve said frowning, but it didn’t seem to matter. Miss Laura shut the door.

For a few minutes, Steve just stood there in the dark, bent over as he tried to peek through the crack in the door where light was streaming in. He couldn’t see a thing and after a while his feet started to ache in his too-big shoes and he sat down, making his uncomfortably dampened pants cling to his thighs. He felt feverish and—and just _gross_ —and he wanted to go home already. The closet smelled like mildew and disinfectant and dirty rags; the stench of it was overwhelming, somehow even with Steve’s stuffed nose. He lowered his face into his chest, taking quick, shallow breaths and trying to focus on the cotton smell of his shirt, or the pain in his fingernails as his hands clenched against the floorboards.

After what felt like an eternity, Miss Laura finally opened the door and Steve squinted his eyes against the brightness. Beside her, he could make out the blurry figure of Principal Wilmot, who stood there with his hand over his nose and mouth. “Steve,” Steve’s ma said, appearing from behind Miss Laura. She was still in her nurse’s uniform.

“Sorry,” Steve said. It wasn’t often that he got so sick that she had to be called in all the way from work.

She leaned down to help him up. She smelled different, there was something faint and homey and slightly metallic about her, like the potpourri she kept by the washroom, all mixed together with the starch scent of her uniform. He quickly leaned away, however, since he was far too old to be using his ma for support. He may be sick and—and sodden—but he could still stand on his own.

His ma took off her coat and wrapped it around him; normally, he would object, but the coat was doing its best to save the remainder of his dignity, as it fell well below his backside. Principal Wilmot whispered something, not looking at Steve. Miss Laura said something about an escort—Steve’s ma curtly replied that that wouldn’t be necessary.

And Steve, god help him, felt the back of his eyes begin to burn and he blinked harshly, wiping at his nose as his ma ushered him out of the room.

“Steve,” she said softly, so soft he barely heard it over the rushing in his ears. “I’m going to get you to lie down when we get home and—and I’m going to step out to get you some medicine. Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve said miserably, holding the coat tighter around himself.

Steve was left home alone for all of twenty minutes, in which time he stripped out of his clothes. A part of him wanted to stay in the bed like that, naked—he felt so warm—but he forced himself to put on his thinnest pajamas and wait for his ma to come back with medicine.

The medicine, it turned out, was not one he was familiar with. It came in a brown paper bag, five separate pink-coloured pills in it with no container or label.

“Sweetheart,” his ma said after he’d swallowed one of the pills, “you’ve differentiated.”

Steve blinked. And then, if anything, he felt his face grow hotter. “ _Ma_ ,” he whined.

“Hush!” she said, making a gesture with her hand to keep his voice down. “And it’s true! You’ve differentiated and this medicine is going to make you feel better. You won’t even have to miss school.” She spoke in a manner-of-fact way that Steve appreciate because she talked like it wasn’t something to be embarrassed about, it was just something that was. But what she was speaking about was also crazy; he’d differentiated but he felt even worse than before, not big and strong. Not like he was suddenly a man. Which only meant one thing.

He bit down on his lip, hard. He heard his ma sigh, and from the corner of his eye, her form seemed to deflate.

“It’s going to be hard, Steve,” she said, again in that way he liked. “Harder. You’re going to take these pills once a month. These things are _private_ , so you’re not going to let anyone see them.”

_Except Bucky_ , Steve mentally amended. He’d have to tell Bucky right away. Because this was almost the worst thing that ever happened to him because he knew what people whispered about omegas behind their backs. Some alpha jerk will come around to try to put him in his place and Steve’ll just pant for him because that’s what his hindbrain would tell him to do.

Bucky would get angry about it too when Steve told him. He’d rant about those how unfair and dumb it was that Steve turned out exactly how those stupid schoolyard bullies said he would and he wouldn’t even have the wherewithal to defend himself anymore.

His ma was still talking. “Don’t press against here,” she said, gently pressed two fingers to the base of his throat, “or here,” she added, touching the opposite side. “Don’t ever, _ever_ be alone with any alpha. I don’t care if you’re older than them, or if you’re post-heat. Okay?”

Steve mumbled something.

“ _Okay_?”

“Bucky’s pa’s an alpha. So I can’t be alone with him neither?”

She huffed. “No, not even him—this is serious, Steve. I need you to take this seriously.”

“I am,” he groused, squeezing his thighs together tight and bringing his knees up. He kept staring down at his bed sheets bunched up beneath him. His ma told him about heats—how the suppressants had to be stopped every little while, what to expect, what medicines to take. She told him he was not allowed to go outside in heats, and right now, since he was so young, the pills would help. He should avoid telling people his dynamic because it would just invite trouble. And she told him that he was a beautiful boy who was very strong and would deal with this as bravely as he dealt with everything else.

She made his favourite for dinner that night, and the pills really did make him feel better.

 

\--

 

Steve took the hottest shower he could bear, until his skin was warm and red. One of the faded old pamphlets his mother had gotten from church had told him the most important thing an omega can do, especially when they were in heat, was to remain as clean as possible. God favoured those that washed away the slick before it could even appear, and those who could hide their pheromones under the cleanly smell of soap. God favoured those who didn’t touch their pheromone glands to try and tease and entice.

It’d been days since the incident at school, and apparently Miss Laura had ‘let it slip’ that Steve had an episode of incontinence, which was, frankly, less embarrassing than the truth. Still got him hassled, though.

“Got a diaper on this time, Rogers?” Marty Friesen said.

“Why, you wanna see?” Steve replied, hooking his thumbs through his pant loops.

But the toughest thing about the day was probably figuring out what to tell Bucky.

His ma may have said it’s better to keep his dynamic hush-hush for now, but he couldn’t _not_ tell Bucky; Bucky had the right to know by virtue of being his best friend. So he walked to Bucky’s classroom, waited outside, and before he knew it, Bucky was throwing his arm around his shoulder, grinning that big grin of his.

“Hiya, Steve,” he said, the words floating from his lips in a cloud because of the cool autumn air. “You coming over to my house today?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, figuring it didn’t matter. His ma wouldn’t be home until after he was asleep tonight anyway. He pressed his chin against his collar, his head inclined towards Bucky, flaring his nostrils. Bucky smelled like—spice, kind of. And smoke.

Bucky was yammering away about what the taught in school that day and how Mr. Leery still kept chewing on his pens except today the side of his mouth was stained blue and Steve listened quietly and remained mum about what he was actually there to talk about. The longer Bucky talked the less Steve wanted to make his confession, because then their conversation would turn awkward and stilted, he was sure of it. And, heck, maybe Bucky would think he was bragging— _I’m a whole year younger than you but I already differentiated and you haven’t. I guess I was right when I always said I was more mature than you._

So went to Bucky’s and wrapped himself up in the quilt the kept hanging over the back of the sofa and played cards and didn’t mention a word of anything important.

 

\--

 

As the months passed by, some of Steve’s schoolmates differentiated too. There were now three alphas in his class; two of them were mean about it, mean and nasty in a way Steve had only heard from adults before, chortling from inside clip joints or fighting out in the street at night, so loudly that Steve’s ma had to shut the windows and close the blinds to block them out, even during the stifling heat of summertime.

“My old man says omegas are only good for two things,” McTavish said, plopping himself down on a chair and spreading his legs wide. “Sucking it and riding it.”

This startled laughter out of some of the boys, while the girls covered their mouths in shock—a few of them stifling laughter too, Steve could tell.

“Your old man sounds like a pervert,” Steve called out.

“’Least I have an old man,” McTavish called back, seemingly unperturbed. Some of them laughed. Mindy Turner said, “Stop being mean!”

Steve knew better than to engage. _Just let it go_ , he could hear his ma saying in his head. _You know better than them._

But clearly he didn’t. “You talk pretty big for a guy no self-respecting omega gal would be seen dead with,” he said. That got Mindy grinning and he felt foolishly proud.

McTavish actually stood up then, his chair screeching against the floorboards as it slid back. Steve got up too, because you needed two to brawl, but that was when Miss Laura came back in, snapping at the both of them to _sit down._

“Many of you have differentiated,” she said, ignoring shy giggles, “and you need to know how to conduct yourselves. You alphas need to know how to prevent frenzies and other such foolishness,” she said, giving McTavish a pointed look, “and omegas need to know how to find the appropriate mate.” To her credit, she did not look at Steve.

The remainder of the day would be spent in a sexual education lecture. They joined Bucky’s class, among others, and sat on the floor and were handed textbooks with crumbling covers and faded ink.

“Alphas are natural leaders,” the teacher was going on, and next to him, Bucky gave a snort. “They are biologically far stronger than the average beta and far, _far_ stronger than the average omega. They make ideal soldiers and policemen.”

_Alphas’ heads are in their dicks_ , Steve remembered overhearing at Wu’s Bistro one day. _They make terrible soldiers._ And he’d peeked up to take a look at the fella, peering through the steam wafting up from his stew because he’d had to _see_ the first person he’d heard say a bad thing about an alpha in public. The guy hadn’t look bothered, just munched into another egg roll while his companion nodded in agreement.

_Alphas’ heads are in their dicks and omegas are too pansy for battle_ , Steve thought a little hotly before he felt a nudge at his left side.

He looked over and Bucky was hiding behind his textbook, giving him a look. One eyebrow raised and a little scrap of a smile, just a slight tug at the corner of his mouth. He tilted his head, apparently asking what had gotten Steve to glare like he’d been glaring.

Steve smoothed his features and gave Bucky a shrug. Bucky rolled his eyes and turned back towards the teacher, but he was still smiling a bit, so it was fine.

Steve opened his book and flipped to the chapter about omega biology, trying to drown out the lecture. Eventually the lights were dimmed as a film reel about wooing and claiming omegas was played and the flickering light from the screen was just enough to allow Steve to read.

_Fig. 2.3 Pheromone glands._

Steve pressed his fingers against the picture, against the sides of the drawing’s neck where two glands the size of beans were indicated.

_It is imperative that accidental contact with these glands be avoided whenever possible_ , the text read. _Pressure may stimulate mild pheromone release. Stimulation of these glands should only occur once the omega has been deemed ready to be bred._

Steve resisted the urge to cover up the side of his neck with his hand.

He spared a quick glance towards Bucky. He was focused dead ahead at the screen, posture slumped, eyes hooded, and face resting against his hand.

Steve returned to the book.

_3.6 Abnormal Heat Patterns_

_Omegas in poor physical condition will often experience heats that are irregular both in frequency and intensity. They should avoid mating and spend their heats in solitary confinement where available for their own safety and for the safety of any potential mates. A weak omega may prove infertile, and if an alpha were to bond with them, the alpha will need to seek other mating possibilities outside their bond, which can cause great physical strain to both parties (see chapter 5, box 5.3: Bonded Separation Anxiety)._

He flipped the pages.

_Chapter 5: Bonding_

_Because alphas are only capable of bonding with omegas and vice versa, intimate relationships outside the bounds of nature are discouraged by civilized societies. It is for the omegas’ safety, as alpha frenzies have been known to lead to omega death and even life-threatening wounds on the alpha’s part._

Steve realized the text was written as if the author never considered that an omega would read his book. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

He looked over at Bucky again and this time Bucky was looking back at him. His ears turned a bit red but then he smiled in a way that was meant to acknowledge mutual suffering. Steve tried to smile back.

 

\--

 

“Bucky,” Steve said sometime later, “what would you do if you ended up being an omega?”

They were alone in the park, and had commandeered the swingset. Bucky’s shoes scraped against the dirt as he brought his squeaky swing to a standstill. He cleared his throat. “Well, you heard the teach. Chances of being a male omega—hell, just an omega in general—are small. I figure there’s no point getting hung up on stuff like that.”

“But you would?” Steve pressed, gripping the chain of his own swing tighter. The metal was practically hot now under the intensity of his grip. “You would get hung up over it?”

“Well, yeah,” Bucky said, furrowing his brow. He looked down and began to pump his legs again. “Nothing against them or anything, but I wouldn’t wanna stay locked up for three days begging for—” He grimaced and stopped himself. “You know what I mean. It’s like a curse.”

“A curse,” Steve echoed. Like his pastor had said, not too long ago. A curse placed on humanity to pay for the sins of the first humans. “You’re just copying Pastor Roberts.”

Bucky huffed, but he was smiling. “I guess. But I dunno. Seems like a hassle.” Steve tried to match his swing, so that they would stay level with each other. “You know what the greatest thing would be? If I ended up a bet like my ma.”

“Not an alpha?” Steve asked.

“Have you _seen_ an alpha frenzy? I get enough bloody knuckles just by being around you, I don’t need alphas feeling like I’m trying to take their territory or what-have-you.”

“ _I’d_ protect you,” Steve offered magnanimously, which got Bucky laughing.

Later, for no reason at all, Bucky decided he’d take a detour, walking Steve home, with the implication that he was doing it to make sure he got there safe. “The Barnes siblings are known for their gallantry,” Bucky sniffed when Steve brought it up.

But, really, Steve didn’t mind, especially not when Bucky threw one arm around his shoulders like he often did, or when he accidentally touched Steve’s chin when he said he needed to adjust his scarf so he wouldn’t drown in it. Steve had the frantic, bewildering urge to nip at his fingers. 

Followed closely by the equally bewildering urge to press two fingers to one of the bean-sized glands at the side of his neck.

Red-faced, he ducked out from under Bucky’s hold and brought up anything that would distract him—asked if Bucky’s pa had fixed their radio yet. Asked if his family would be going to the school science fair. And then he was at his front doorstep, safe, and offered a rushed goodbye.

He pulled a stool out from underneath the kitchen sink and used it to reach up to the top cupboards where his little bag of pink pills was hidden behind the teabags.

He took an extra one for that week, just in case.

 

\--

 

“Doc says I’m probably a beta,” Bucky announced soon after barging into Steve and his ma’s apartment. “Says there’s _almost_ no question about it. Had to do an exam to see if I had a _slick_ gland.”

In retrospect, Steve should’ve known. Bucky had been kissed by Luck herself right at birth. “Good for you,” he said primly, looking back down at the comic in his lap.

Bucky’s smile faltered, and he turned in the bed so that he was facing Steve, his head raised up and resting against his palm. “I expected a little more congratulations.”

Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He could feel something tight coiling in his gut and it wasn’t the first time he’d felt jealous of Bucky, but it was definitely the first time that jealousy was accompanied by anger. “Congrats,” he said.

He didn’t look up and Bucky was silent for a moment, but Steve was keenly aware of his body so close to his own, could feel the heat coming off him, and could smell the cleanser on his clothes. Steve traced the lines of the comic panel with his thumbnail, not reading a thing, and when the silence dragged on a little too long, he dared to glance up.

Bucky had his head tilted to the side, his expression blank. “What?” Steve said.

Bucky licked his lips. “If you… if you differentiated, you’d tell me about it, right?”

And out of nowhere, as quick as anything, Steve’s eyes began to sting. He burned with shame and anger—not at Bucky, but at himself and how he was reacting in that very moment. He shouldn’t feel this humiliated because he had nothing to feel humiliated _about_ , it was what his ma always said, he should never be embarrassed about what he was but he had to hide it, not because it was _bad_ , but because people didn’t understand.

“Steve,” Bucky, sounding alarmed, and Steve edged away on the bed, felt his socked feet catch on the sheets, so he kicked out. “Steve!” Bucky said again, catching his foot, and for a second Steve was scared he’d drag him forward. “Stop being an idiot—cut it out!”

Steve threw the comic book at his face. It hit him flat against the forehead before fluttering to the floor.

They sat like that for a few seconds, just staring at each other, Bucky’s hand still around Steve’s ankle. And then Bucky sighed. And then he stood up.

And Steve realized he didn’t actually didn’t want Bucky to leave. What he wanted was for the two of them to sit with each other in silence. That wasn’t going to happen, so he swallowed his pride and said, “I’m an omega.”

He heard Bucky suck in a breath and Steve was still trying to blink back the stinging in his eyes. He heard Bucky sit back down, and he shifted forward down the slump in the cot Bucky created.

“Wow,” Bucky said. “You must be, maybe… the third one in the whole school.”

“That you know of,” Steve said.

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. He was fidgeting, his fingers twitching like he wanted to do something. “Uh, so, what—what’s it like?” His voice was a little high.

Steve sniffed and looked up at him. He was illuminated by the slanted light from the streetlamps outside and Steve realized it was dark, and Bucky had probably intended to sleep over. Good. “I dunno,” he said. “Normally, it’s not like anything. I can scent people now. I have to take pills to not have heats. I don’t smell much like an omega because doc says my pheromone glands are weak. So no one’s really noticed.”

“Right,” Bucky said.

He looked distressed.

“Why’re you looking like that?” Steve asked, feeling that familiar irritation start to rise again.

“I’m just surprised, is all,” Bucky said, raising his hands up in surrender. “I’d figured you’d end up a beta or some—” when Steve’s scowled deepened he added, “—or an alpha maybe.”

“Well I’m neither of those things.” He raised his chin. “It’s not a big deal.”

(Although, if it weren’t a big deal, Steve would’ve told him right away. As soon as he’d gotten that first heat. He wouldn’t stay up at night worrying about accidental heats and having to be mated, taken on the street or in some alley or in his own bed by some alpha who managed to get the upper hand on him. He wouldn’t worry about being _bred_ , like an animal, being claimed and having to marry.)

_3 alphas injured and 1 omega left dead in Queens after bar fight sparked frenzy._

He’d read that in the paper just that morning. Big, lumbering alphas reeking of pheromones, fighting over some omega who was left with half a dozen claim marks and it was the alphas’ _fault_.

They sat in awkward silence for a while after that before Bucky said, “Can I see?”

“What?” Steve snapped.

“I mean—is it true? That if you touch your, uh—the glands on your neck, that you start smelling real nice?”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s just a question,” Bucky said, sounding a little annoyed himself.

“You’re not supposed to try stuff like that,” Steve said, hushing his voice, but Bucky was reaching forward, a look of concentration on his face. Steve’s breath caught as two of Bucky’s fingers grazed the crook of his neck, and his skin tingled at the light pressure.

“No rules about having someone else try it for you,” Bucky said, a slight hitch to his voice. Steve huffed out a startled laugh.

“Yeah,” he said before… before baring his neck.

He had no idea what he was doing.

And apparently Bucky didn’t either because he pressed down hard at Steve’s neck and it tingled before it _hurt_. Steve yelped and they both startled away. He reached up and placed his palm against it, but he couldn’t help but press down, maybe to rub the feeling of Bucky’s touch further into his skin or something equally ridiculous. Bucky was leaning in close, his nose almost against Steve’s nape and Steve couldn’t bring himself to feel weird about it. “Well?” he asked, voice quiet.

“It’s like… summer,” Bucky finally decided.

Steve wondered if some alpha down the street could catch his scent, and if he smelled the same to them. At this moment, with his skin tingling and his mouth dry, he wanted nothing more than to have someone—rub against him.

Bucky couldn’t—couldn’t do that, not like an alpha could. But he could still touch, send this ice cold shivers racing down his spine—somehow. Steve wondered if the pills had stopped working, if he’d gained a _tolerance_ , like the textbooks said. Or maybe he just wanted—

Bucky’s mouth was open because Steve could feel his hot breaths against his collar. “I s’pose it makes sense… with you being a July kid, to smell like… Cotton candy on the wharf.”

Steve scrunched up his nose and pushed Bucky back. He rolled up his sleeve and sniffed at his arm. “That’s just the soap ma gets. It’s salty-sweet.”

Bucky presses his lips together. “Ah.”

And the look on his face gets Steve to smile. “You’re just a beta anyway, you wouldn’t be able to scent me properly.”

“ _Just_ a beta?” Bucky said, feigning outrage even as he tackled Steve onto the cot. “I’ll have you know, some of the most prominent figures in history were betas! Number one: probably all those guys who built the pyramids. Number two—”

Steve laughed because Bucky’s fingers were tickling his sides, and Steve’s face turned red because Bucky’s breath was heating his neck.

He inhaled deeply. Bucky might not ever know it, but he smelled wonderful.

 

\--

 

Some beta gals—and even some omegas—must’ve picked up on Bucky’s smell too, because soon, he was getting propositions left and right.

He’d grown up plenty rugged, or so Steve thought, and apparently so did most everybody else. He’d lost that childish lankiness he’d had about him and now had muscles to show off from all those hours working in the shipping yards. And he had that smile of his, the one that got hearts racing a mile-a-minute. Privately, Steve thought he looked like a movie star.

He went out a lot and always tried to talk Steve up into going with him and sometimes Steve did. But he felt like he was deceiving whatever beta dame he’d set him up with, smelling of nothing, like a beta. He started declining Bucky’s invites more and more frequently.

Bucky still kept going out though—not very late at night and not to rowdy, smoky bars. He was still a Barnes boy, and Barnes boys treated their dates nice. But that didn’t mean he was some wilting flower either; if his girl wanted it, it turned out Bucky was more than happy to oblige, and Steve was the one stuck getting an earful. He figured Bucky must know what he was doing, considering the bed-rattling moans from the other room.

He couldn’t quite bring himself to picture it. Sex, that was. He couldn’t imagine what a proper heat would feel like now that he was an adult—would he lose his mind like people said? Would he make those ridiculous faces like in the Tijuana bibles— _hot, exotic omega vixen from the jungles of the Amazon falls for you, our dashing alpha hero!_

He found himself dwelling on it more often than was probably appropriate. Seated at the kitchen table, he thought about the chemicals in his blood, the cycle he was trapped him that the textbooks said made him the perfect little breeding machine, able to pop out pup after pup, designed to do it. Designed to anticipate his alpha’s needs, expected to bend over at the first hint of a rut.

That was what people wanted from omegas, and when they didn’t play into their fantasies, things tended to get out of hand. Steve had heard enough stories about omegas getting cornered, having their space invaded, being scented. Steve’d seen it himself a couple times—and he’d stepped in, although a fat lot of good that did anyone.

He dipped his bread into his watery soup and chewed without really tasting it. He couldn’t stop thinking about it—typical omega, so preoccupied with sex.

He was trying to picture what it’d be like to sit on an alpha’s knot.

Painful? He’d never gotten a chance to ask his ma about that—if he could’ve ever beaten down his embarrassment enough to talk about that in the first place. It probably wouldn’t hurt, though, he rationalized. There was all that slick, and he’d… relax.

“Ugh,” he said, the bread now tasting like paper in his mouth. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but the thought stuck. What would it be like? The alpha would smell so much, like how Marty Friesen from two floors up smelled when he was turned on—Steve could tell he was turned on, by what, he wasn’t sure, but he’d smell like a day-old campfire that had been rained on. Rotting wood. But that was probably because Marty was an asshole.

Maybe the alpha would smell nice, like Bucky. The alpha would be panting, and Steve would be in heat, so he’d be beggi—

Wait, no, he thought, staring into his soup, submerging the bits of carrots with his spoon and watching them float up to the top again. The simpering, whining omega was fantasy, and not even Steve’s fantasy at that. Based on what he read in the news, omegas begged more often for their lives than they did for their alphas.

The _alpha_ would beg. Steve would spur him into a rut and the alpha would have his head bowed and cock out, hard and already halfway into a knot, and he’d beg Steve to let him mate him. That’s what any alpha worth his knot would do.

And Steve would say no. He’d say no because the thought of taking a knot left him cold, and if the alpha had a problem with that, Steve would fight him off like he was always fighting people off. No different from that.  

He looked up and allowed his world to expand again, as it had narrowed down to the cooling bowl of soup.

The door opened and there was Bucky, a dusting of snow on his hat and shoulders, and a bouquet of red roses in his hand, easily the brightest thing in the room besides Bucky himself.

Steve’s heart picked up for a second and he was overcome with competing feelings of embarrassment, mild irritation, and warmth, when Bucky had to go and spoil it all by saying, “They’re from Mindy. Joey’s older sister.”

It felt like Steve’s heart had stilled almost completely and he looked off to the side and said, “Oh.” Mindy was an alpha, or that was what Steve had heard. An alpha was courting Bucky, a beta, and really, Steve should be happy about it—it was an odd pairing, but dating an alpha could give the Barnes a status boost. Mindy was a nice girl. But giving flowers like Bucky was some kind of—just—who did she think she was—?

“I accidentally pricked myself on the thorns when I tried to pluck one out to give back to her,” Bucky said, putting his hat up on the rack and walking over. He deposited the flowers on the table, not even bothering to immediately find something to put them in and Steve was still staring at the bright red petals, soaked with melted snowflakes. Bucky was giving him a look but Steve was wondering how long it took for roses to wilt and rot.

“I don’t think I’ll take her up on her offer of a date,” Bucky said, taking a seat and helping himself to some of Steve’s bread.

Steve looked up at him but Bucky had ducked his head. 

 

\--

 

A couple of years later on a rainy November morning, Steve walked down the street with his bag of newspapers, searching a new spot to hock his wares now that his previous position had been usurped by much bigger men who needed a place to gossip and smoke and who were seemingly incapable of listening to reason.

Right after he’d received Mr. Wu’s permission to sell the papers outside his restaurant, he felt a stabbing pain in his back, so strong he gasped and dropped a bundle of rolled papers onto the wet street.

He pursed his lips and breathed in deeply through his nose—he didn’t know why, it wasn’t an asthma attack, maybe it was reflexive—and dropped down to his knees, feeling the skin scrape and bleed. The weight of his bag brought him down hard, tipping him over until he was on his hands and knees and the stabbing pain got worse.

“Hey, pal, you alright?” he heard someone say. Distantly, he could hear the _ting_ of the bell over Wu’s door sound.

His back was _killing_ him. He felt his heart speed up, pounding loud in his ears, and his chest felt tight as he sucked in air.

Something was tugging at the back of his collar, and he heard the bell over the door tinkle again—he was inside Wu’s restaurant and Mr. Wu himself was dragging him towards the kitchens.

Steve turned his head and saw a few people peeking in through the windows, but no one came in—and then soon he was being guided into a pantry.

So that was two of two heats spent in a cupboard, then.

“Your scent is weak,” Mr. Wu said, “but alphas still might come to sniff around. Stay here.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut tight and heard Mr. Wu’s footsteps as he walked away and out of the kitchen.

This was much worse than last time. Last time—when he was a child—it had felt like a mild fever. Hot and sticky. This time he was getting hard, and his skin was so damp. _Diaphoresis_ , he remembered his ma telling him ages ago. _It happens. Be sure to drink plenty of water._

He licked his chapped lips and groaned at the feel of it. God, he needed—

_No_ , he thought, stomping down on the thoughts as quick as they came. He slid down against the wall, lowering his head to rest between his knees, trying not to squirm at the feel of the slick soaking his pants. He focused on the hissing of oil outside the door. There was a clatter of metal against metal, the muted scrape of a chair sliding against the floorboards.

But his concentration broke; for a split-second, he petulantly wanted to whine for Bucky, and now he felt a fresh dribble of slick oozing down his ass.

_He had to get out_. He wouldn’t spend another heat in hiding and he could hear a ruckus at the front doors. If someone was trying to give the Wu’s trouble for being _kind_ to him, Steve would have no choice but to step in.

He crawled out of the cupboard and, with shaky legs, he stood, hearing his stiffened back crack as he rose to his full height, shoulders squared. He closed his mouth and focused on breathing through his nose.

“Rogers, for goodness’ sake!” Mr. Wu said when Steve walked back into the dining area. “Go back to the kitchens, my daughter is fetching your fr—”

“Hey, sweetheart!” some greaseball called, his face nearly pressed against the glass of the front door. Three others were crowded around him. “Wanting to get knotted so badly you’re walking around in heat, if you’re that desperate, me and the boys can—”

“Get lost!” Steve yelled back, resisting the urge to pinch his nose against the stink of an impending rut. “You’re scaring away the customers!”

“Fucking _bitch_ —”

“ _Steve_?”

Bucky was behind him, probably having come in from the back door. His hand was on Steve’s forearm and when Steve looked back at him, Bucky’s expression was dark. He dragged Steve back into the kitchens after apologizing profusely to Wu—Steve felt he should apologize too, until he felt something cool against his neck. It smelled sharp and minty. “Just some salve,” Bucky was saying, exhaustion lacing his voice, “to cover the smell. Apparently it’s not much anyway. Did your pills fail?”

Steve didn’t say anything. He heard Bucky grunt something.

As they made their way out of the kitchen, Bucky threw an arm around him and hunkered down, thanking Mr. Wu while Steve focused on an interesting piece of art on the wall he’d seen a thousand times. Bucky’s arm around him was tight—maybe even proprietary—and why wouldn’t it be? He couldn’t scent him, he couldn’t knot him, all he could do is keep him close and bare his teeth at any alpha that came sniffing around. And even all of that was just because he was a good friend—better than Steve deserved—who had to look out for the runt omega because no one else would.

Outside, it was dark and still raining. Just a misty drizzle, cooling Steve’s skin, soothing him with their pitter-patter. Despite everything—even despite how tense Bucky felt next to him—Steve wanted very much to close his eyes in that moment and let his heat fully overcome him with Bucky there at his side, doing nothing more than holding him.

But he couldn’t close his eyes. He had to hurry along because the alphas that had gathered around the restaurant were making their way over to the two of them, shouting something Steve couldn’t understand, not when Bucky was so close, smelling so sweet.

“Hey,” someone said, and there was a tug on the sleeve of his jacket. “A fuckin’ beta can’t give you what I can.” Laughter—Bucky growled something, and the hand on his arm was wretched away. Steve was walking faster, Bucky practically dragging him across the sidewalk. More laughter coming from somewhere behind him and Steve’s hearing started to fade in and out.

“Some people got no—no class,” Bucky was muttering; it felt like his lips were pressed right up against Steve’s ear. “No class whatsoever. All wet and stickin’ their noses in places they don’t belong. I’m surprised you didn’t deck that guy before I did!” He laughed, but it sounded like it stuck to his teeth.

It was starting to rain in earnest now and Steve was glad for it because he imagined his scent getting lost in the petrichor, and he now had an excuse about why his clothes were sticking to his skin. “You’re always—always forgetting your umbrella,” he said.

“Yeah,” Bucky said and didn’t even bother to point out Steve had forgotten his umbrella as well. He didn’t sound very angry any more. He probably felt resigned.

Steve found himself seated on the couch and he clenched his hands over his knees, and he knew he’d have to clean the cushions now. He was dripping everywhere and he probably stank with the mixture of heat and salve. He was probably making noises he wasn’t even aware of and the smell of rutting alphas might have followed them home and it was a miracle Bucky could even stand it all.

But, perhaps it wasn’t. Bucky was a beta.

_His beta_ , a dark part of Steve urged. _His, his, his,_ only his, not some alpha’s who brought him flowers, not some rich businessman’s beta daughter’s, not some other omega’s, but _his_ , Bucky was his and he was so _close_.

Bucky sat just a foot away on the kitchen chair. Steve could see tiny little raindrops still clinging to his upper lip and he wanted to lick them off, oh _god_.

“Is there… what do you need?” Bucky was saying. “Should I—I don’t—”

Steve stood, ignoring how his head spun at the action. “I just need a bath,” he said, heaving the board off the tub with trembling arms. He turned the faucet to full heat. It squealed and steamed before the water started flowing and Steve wasn’t sure why but he could have almost cried with relief.

“Okay,” he heard Bucky say. “Do you want me to—?”

“Stay,” Steve said.

So he did. Steve filled the bath and shed his sodden clothes and Bucky put on a record and flipped through Steve’s sketchbook. He kept glancing up and his right leg was jittering.

Steve, for his part, tried to lie absolutely still. He wanted to move his hips, fuck himself against—against nothing, really, there was nothing there for him to use. He knew his skin was flushed and he probably looked ridiculous, panting and grunting at nothing, so he stared at his pruned fingers, at the steamed windows, tried to think of what he’d make for dinner. Tried to think of anything other than asking Bucky to help him.

It was an hour later and the record had started to skip but neither made any move to fix it. Bucky stared down at his feet and Steve stared over the ledge of the tub at Bucky.

“Buck,” he said, voice weaker than he’d meant it to be. “C’mere.” He hadn’t meant to say that, but at the moment, he was simply glad it hadn’t come out as a moan.

After a moment’s hesitation, Bucky was kneeling next to him, looking anxious and pained and still more handsome than any alpha around. Impossibly handsome, he thought. He could have his pick of any beta and even any omega but he was here kneeling by a yellowed tub in Steve’s dingy apartment, and worst of all, he was there by his own choice.

Steve thought his heart might break and maybe it showed on his face because Bucky was now looking more worried than he’d ever seen him.

“Tell me what to do and I’ll do it, Steve,” he said.

“Get in here,” Steve replied because he was tired and he was giving in. Giving up, although it didn’t quite feel like giving up.  

And Bucky did. Here he was making demands in the midst of heat and having those demands met.

Steve had seen Bucky naked a thousand times before but now that naked skin was pressed up against his, warm and hard. It was an awkward fit and water rain over the edge but Steve didn’t care and by some miracle it seemed neither did Bucky because he could have his pick of the lot and he was _here_ —

“I can’t knot you,” Bucky said uselessly, as if Steve didn’t know that. “I can’t make this any better, not ever.”

Steve tucked his head against Bucky’s throat and inhaled. “Don’t want anybody’s knot. Don’t wanna be bred.”

“You _say_ that, but—”

“Buck, I’m in the middle of a heat. If I say I don’t want a knot now, I’m pretty sure it’s never gonna change.”

A few minutes passed. Bucky’s fingers were at his forehead, brushing away damp strands of hair. Even as his body ached to be filled, Steve’s mind stopped whirring at the gentle touch.

“A lot of alphas are gonna wanna give us trouble for this,” Bucky said eventually.  
“I’ll protect you,” Steve said a little petulantly and he felt Bucky’s chest shake as he laughed.

“Yeah, you’ve been doing a great job of it so far,” he joked, pressing his lips over the back of Steve’s neck, right where an alpha would bite. “The only time I get roughed up is when I have to save your scrawny ass.”

“Or when you find out the beta you’d been making eyes at has a boyfriend,” Steve replied, unperturbed.

“Or that,” Bucky agreed.

Soon, the water turned lukewarm, and the steamed windows began to drip clean. Steve let his shoulders droop, settling back against Bucky, wanting to grind up against his half-hard cock and at the same time, not wanting that at all.

“Stop thinking so much, you’re givin’ me a headache,” Bucky said. “God, you’re the oddest omega I know—” Steve tensed, “—and that probably makes us a good match, considering.”

“I don’t want you pretending to be an alpha,” Steve said.

“I don’t have to pretend—you already said you’d protect me, remember?”

Steve huffed. The water became cold. Steve didn’t want to move still; he could spend his whole heat there in Bucky’s arms; it’d be painful and unpleasant but it’d be on his terms.

He must have drifted asleep because he soon felt himself shifting. He heard Bucky’s bare feet thumb against the damp floorboards and soon, he was being lifted out of the tub and towards the bed. They lay face to face on Steve’s cot, three blankets covering Bucky and none for Steve, whose skin was still radiating heat.

 

\--

 

In the morning, Bucky was still there, glowing under the early sun, holding a glass of water to Steve’s mouth.

He didn’t feel hot anymore, just exhausted and empty. He’d gotten through the worst of his heat by cuddling and he’d laugh about it if he were sure it wouldn’t wear him out to do so.

“Be my mate,” Bucky said. “It’s too good an offer to pass up, I know, but in case you’re unsure, I will guarantee I’ll provide for you better than any alpha.”

Steve hid a smile in his pillow, closing his eyes.

He continued, his voice becoming serious now. “No one’s gonna touch you, Steve,” he said, pressing his lips against his bare shoulder. “No one’s gonna touch you if you don’t want it and I know you can look after yourself just fine but I’m gonna help you. Because clearly your suppressants aren’t worth the pennies you spend on them.”

Steve chuckled.

“And,” Bucky continued, unfalteringly, “they’re gonna listen to you. Whatever you say, they’ll take you seriously and they’re gonna listen.”

“Who’s they?” he asked.

“The whole world. You’ll stand in front of the world even in full heat and no one’ll touch you.”

“They’ll listen to me,” Steve said, playing along.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, completely serious. “They’d be stupid not to.”

Steve wanted to crawl inside the other man, and when Bucky nosed at his bonding gland, he wanted his teeth, wanted him to rip it out since he couldn’t properly claim it. It was a frightening feeling because of how it consumed him so completely, but it was an odd electric sort of fear.

“They’ll listen to me,” Steve repeated. “And you’ll be the beta all the alphas fear. No one will mess with you—they’ll know better.”

“Damn right,” Bucky said, smiling against his flesh.

_—intimate relationships outside the bounds of nature are discouraged by civilized societies,_ Steve remembered reading, and he couldn’t help smiling to himself. He hoped he’d live to see what an uncivilized society would look like.


End file.
